


The Nameday Present

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 11,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Comment Fic Meme No. 7 on Livejournal.</p><p>This was Maroucia's prompt: Joffrey gives Sansa to Sandor for his name day.  She is brought naked into a velvet lined chest to his chamber and he has not clue what is inside until he opens. Of course, Joffrey had instructed her to do whatever his dog wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maroucia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/gifts).



> Many short chapters ahead. They represent my writing rythm when I was working on the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own my works of fanfiction/fanart. I do not profit from the stories or drawings, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters, plot and settings go to the respective original author or artist.

Another bloody year. Another bloody year he had survived against all odds. Another nameday – and a lonely one, of course. Sandor had thought of going out, to a wine sink, or to Alayaya's... but then, he had decided that a little cask of Dornish red and a good hand rub in his chamber would be just as well. After all, he didn't feel like celebrating, especially since Joffrey had ended his betrothal with Sansa, and the Little Bird was – if possible at all – in even greater danger now, like fair game. It was all so damned frustrating!

 

Sandor sat down on the bed in his room after having cast his clothes aside for the night, the cask and a tankard next to the headboard. His cock came first in line. Sandor set to work determinedly. His arousal grew, and he grunted.

 

Bang! Bang! Bang!  
“Clegane,” goddamn Ser Meryn's voice boomed from the other side of the door, “open the door. King's order.”  
Sandor rolled up his eyes in frustration. Not even on his nameday was he allowed to get away from the little shitstain's annoyances!  
Swiftly, the Hound wrapped the bed's blanket around his hips, stomped to the door and opened.  
“What's this, Trant? Intent on getting a red-hot iron shoved up your arse?”  
Ser Meryn could only snort viciously: “Happy nameday, Hound. Here's a present from your king. You're supposed to make good use of it. Be grateful and enjoy.”  
Sandor arched his eyebrow and saw that there was indeed a huge box with a blue, velvet bow wrapped around it, and two men were carrying it into his room now, right in front of his bed.  
A moment later, Ser Meryn and his minions had left and the door had banged shut.

 

The Hound was confused. What was this supposed to mean? He had never been given such a big present by anyone. Sandor growled in suspicion and put the blanket back on his bed. He wanted to be able to move quickly on his feet, and not to be hindered by a piece of cloth – just in case. Probably, it was good that he hadn't started on his wine cask yet. The box looked harmless enough, but that didn't mean anything since it came from Joffrey.  
Sandor grabbed his dagger and cut through the velvet bow. Next, he chucked the lid of the box aside, risked a peek into it... and looked directly into absolutely terrified, very blue eyes that were as big as saucers.  
Sandor gasped, and his body stiffened – in more than one way.  
Sansa.  
A Little Bird, only clad in the auburn plumage that was her own. Otherwise, not a single thread covered her nakedness.  
“Seven Hells, what...!?” was all that Sandor was able to rasp.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa was shivering like some dead leaves on a tree during a strong breeze, and it wasn't just from feeling cold, that much was clear. Her gaze was hanging on his naked – and rather aroused – form.  
Damn, damn, damn!  
Sandor wanted his cock to go limp, but the blasted body part didn't care in the least. His own eyes didn't obey him either and were roaming over Sansa's delicate skin, her long limbs, the barely hidden, but already decidedly female little breasts... fuck!  
“What are you doing here, Little Bird? Which kind of bloody jape is this?” he finally cursed.  
Sansa, who was trying desperately to cover her nakedness with her hands, started to weep: “The... the king called me. He had Ser Meryn strip me and put me in the box, and... His Grace told me I should... I should lie with you and pleasure you tonight. He ordered me to... to do absolutely everything you wanted. And he threatened me...”  
Sansa gulped and could barely go on, but in the end, she whispered: “King Joffrey threatened me that if I don't manage to... to do my duty, and if I'm still a maid in the morning he'll understand it as the denial of a royal order and an act of treason, and he'll have my head then.”

 

On hearing this, Sandor paled.  
SHIT.  
He thought: “I'll tear Meryn to tiny little shreds for this and feed him to the dogs in the kennel – and I'll do the same to this bloody little monster who styles himself as king!”  
The Hound felt like his horse Stranger when it was about to balk. He tried to think, but his brain was mush. Likely because of the fact that all his blood had gone south.  
So he rumbled: “Well, let's see. Come here, Little Bird.”  
Sandor took the blanket and wrapped it around her trembling body. Sansa finally rose, her panic-fuelled stare still fixed on his ugly, scarred body. It made him angry, and he grabbed her chin.  
“What, Little Bird? I didn't ask for this! But if you're so curious – just have a good look! Yes, this is what a man looks like. At least a huge ruffian like me.”  
Sansa's cheeks and neck flushed scarlet within seconds, and her eyes snapped shut.  
Sandor sighed and let go of her chin, fatalistic.  
“Of course, you wouldn't want to look at me, would you, Little Bird? Not a pretty sight for a lady. So what do we do now?”  
There was a little sob in Sansa's chest.  
“I... I don't want to die! Please, Ser Sandor...”  
“I'M. NO. SER!”  
Sansa was so ashamed now that she was curling into a ball on his bed.  
The Hound felt like shit. In a long row of desolate namedays this one was rapidly becoming the worst. He sighed again.  
His eyes darted to the cask at the headboard. An idea started to form in his mind. It certainly wasn't a stroke of genius, granted, but given the circumstances there were hardly any elegant solutions to the problem.


	3. Chapter 3

“Little Bird – you say you want to live. Do you mean it?” he inquired.  
Sansa looked up at him, her eyes like a wounded doe.  
“I saw my father die. I want to live.”  
Sandor looked at her from the side and watched her put on her armour: the girl's eyes became detached, as if her soul was retreating to some dark recess where it couldn't be reached and hurt any more. The good question was now whether her soul would ever come back to her body, if he took her in such a state. Probably not.  
Sandor thought of his brother's wives and cursed. No. Things had to happen differently.  
He flopped himself onto the bed, next to Sansa, and suggested: “We could do it in such a way that you wouldn't feel and remember much. What would you say to that, Little Bird?”  
“I'll do anything you order me to do,” Sansa replied in her hollow, polite voice she used at court, but Sandor could see that there were little cracks in her armour now.  
Female curiosity. Good.  
“Look here.” He pointed to the cask of wine. “You could get properly drunk. It would make you relaxed, and when you're relaxed you won't feel so much pain. And in the morning, the hangover will make you look so miserable that Joffrey will be pleased.”  
Sansa was insecure.  
“Won't it be... less comfortable for you this way?” she ventured forward.  
Sandor snorted and scoffed: “What do you think is better for me? Tell me: a pretty girl who's so fearsome and in pain and traumatised that she'd be alive, but a lunatic afterwards; or a warm, soft – though apathetic – cunt where the pretty girl that belongs to it can get back to her five senses once the whole blasted fuck is over?”  
Sansa was just gaping at him, so he repeated: “Say it, what do you think is better?”  
The Little Bird looked away, cleared her throat and mumbled: “The... the latter?”  
Sandor patted her cheek slightly and commented: “Good girl. Your answer shows that at least you're not mistaking me for my brother.”

 

Without further ado, the Hound opened the cask and filled a tankard. He offered it to Sansa. She tried to take it, but her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly spilled everything. Sandor swore again and held the tankard to her lips. Sansa tried to drink the Dornish red like water in her haste, which caused her to choke and to cough and to spill some more wine.  
A droplet was leaking down her collarbone now and reached a breast under the blanket, where it soaked the fabric. Sandor's cock had lost a bit of its stiffness for a moment, but it sprang back into action and quivered as if it were nosing some prey.  
In the meantime, Sansa's hands had stopped shaking because of the first effects of the alcohol. She was examining his member from the corner of her eyes, he noticed. Her cheeks were still scarlet.  
“Well, Little Bird, what are you thinking of my cock? Liking what you see?” Sandor poked her sardonically while drinking two deep swigs himself.  
Sansa pulled her head between her shoulders in shame, like a turtle.  
Helplessly, she stammered: “I'm sorry! I didn't mean to... to spy on you.”  
“Pfft, no harm done. You're about to become a woman – you should have an idea of what a man looks like. And people's stares at my face are usually worse.”  
The Little Bird didn't know exactly how to go on and nearly tripped over her tongue when she asked: “Do... other men look like that, too? And how can such a – this body part, I mean – enter...”  
She faltered.  
Sandor snickered at her sense of shame struggling with her curiosity.  
“Here, take some more wine. Good. And now to your questions: the basic design of a cock is always the same, but there are some differences in size and diameter, and some minor details about the shape as well. But they can all fit into a healthy woman. I mean – remember that even a whole baby can come out of that female body part. It's just that a maid needs to adjust a bit to a man.”  
“Is... is that why it's supposed to hurt the first time?”  
Sandor nodded.  
“Yes. But from all I know it's not the same for every maid. I heard Littlefucker ramble on and on about the topic in King Robert's presence once while I was on duty. Would have liked to bash the creeper's face in, I can tell you.”  
Sansa was confused.  
“You mean – Lord Baelish? Mother's friend? But why should he want to talk about such a topic in the king's presence?”  
“Littlefucker – your mother's friend? Don't make me laugh! The basted shit held a knife to your father's neck when he was being arrested. And he took your aunt's maidenhood, from all I've heard. Would a friend do that? Well, and the king loved lewd talk, and since Baelish owns some brothels the man is a bloody expert when it comes to women and all kinds of perversions. I can still recall him say that the maidenhood of each woman looks different, and that he especially tries to get those girls where the – hm – membrane is closed as much as possible, because it's likely more painful and bloody for those girls, so the respective customer would be more content. There are many men who get aroused by inflicting pain on someone else. Think of your former fiancé, for example.”  
Sansa looked positively sick now and breathed: “Is that true? That's so horrible!”  
Sandor growled back: “Aaah. Finally, you're seeing things more clearly. Well, of course it's true what I'm saying. And let me tell you: a dog will die for you, but never lie to you. And it'll look you straight in the face. Here. Have some more wine.”  
The Little Bird drank obediently. She was starting to look rather tipsy now.

 

Sandor drank from the tankard, too, and felt morose. Seven bleeding hells, it shouldn't happen like this! Sansa deserved better.  
Suddenly, her arms went round his neck, and her torso was flush against his own one, her little teats pressing against his chest.  
The Little Bird was apparently getting into a whiny mood and sniffled into the crook of his neck: “Thank you so much for trying to make it all easier for me, and for explaining things. You've always tried to help me in your own way. And now... well... you won't hurt me.”  
Sandor was rather swamped by her sudden embrace and presence and tears. Women simply didn't touch him like this. Never ever.  
Insecure, he combed with his fingers through her soft auburn locks and murmured: “There, there.”  
Somehow, Sansa's face moved up a little, and her wet cheek was resting against his own good one now. Sandor didn't understand. His brain activity was reduced to instincts he had not known he possessed – and one of these instincts caused him to move his head a bit, too, so that his lips started to ghost over her mouth, almost shyly asking for more.  
Sandor didn't know how to proceed now and hesitated. The Little Bird's breath was coming fast and felt warm on his face; her divine scent filled his nostrils. Sansa looked him straight in the eyes. For the very first time. She was confused and her gaze a little hazy from the Dornish red, but still... it was as if she were seeing him like she had never done before. Sandor's heart started to hammer away.  
After one or two heartbeats, Sansa inclined her head a little more, all the while keeping the gaze of her oh so blue eyes locked with his grey ones, her mouth made contact with his own twitching, half-burned lips, there was a petite noise in her throat... and suddenly, white-hot flames were licking up and down Sandor's spine – only they didn't hurt, and the Hound felt as if he were catapulted into a different dimension, a dimension of glory and bliss.  
Holy shit! He had not known! He hadn't had a bloody clue!  
In a brief moment of absolute clarity Sandor Clegane realised that his old life had come to an end, and whatever future lay ahead of him: he and the Little Bird... they'd pick their way together and leave the rubble of their past.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, Sandor drew back. Seven bleeding hells, was he turning into a blasted romantic singer who had got sweet words for balls? One damned kiss, and he was beyond the Summer Isles! The Stranger take him, he had to control himself, if he wanted to do his duty properly. If he tried to fuck her like a moonstruck teenager would his first lass Sansa would get the shock of her life. After all, he wasn't a small man, and with his strength and weight he might crush her easily. No, he had to keep himself in check.  
The big problem, however, was that the Little Bird looked at him in absolute wonder. As if she had just experienced something wonderful as well. She even lifted her hand and trailed with her finger along his lips and further, over his shoulders. Sandor ground his teeth and Sansa stopped her caress.  
“You... you don't like it?” she asked, confused.  
The Hound barked his laughter: “Girl, you don't have a clue! I like it too much! If you keep doing that, I'll spill my seed before I even get between your legs, and then, I probably wouldn't be able to perform properly a second time. Here. Have some more wine. You're still too focused.”  
Sansa giggled and drank obediently. Next, she licked her lips, trilled a happy sigh, and her head sagged back into the cushion.  
Sandor cursed. The alluring Little Bird would surely be his untimely death.  
And how on earth should he make things go more smoothly? He didn't believe that one kiss, intoxicating as it had been, had made her wet enough for the endeavour that lay ahead of them – and Sandor didn't know how to warm up a woman. He had heard a few things, but didn't know what Sansa liked, and the girl surely didn't know it herself either, innocent as she was. Damn, that was the easy thing with whores. They didn't need any warming up and used some oils or salves for the process if necessary.  
Oils... salves...  
Sandor stopped dead.  
Maybe...  
He went over to a half-forgotten chest in a corner of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Maester Pycelle had given him a balm for his scars, but he had quickly ceased to use it. The ointment was extremely oily and slippery to make the scars more flexible, but it left the ruined half of his face gleaming, and that looked even worse than his normal state. Moreover, the dust in the training yard stuck to it, which made the whole treatment counterproductive.  
But perhaps the salve could do some good now...

 

Sandor opened the little jar and sniffed. The balm had not turned rancid. Good.  
He strode back to his bed.  
“Little Bird! How are you feeling now?”  
Sansa's eyelids fluttered, and she looked at him with a warm and drunk smile.  
“Oh Sandor, Ifll good. Willshou do'tnow?” she slurred, lifted her head, tried to kiss him again, accidentally landed with her mouth next to his nose, giggled once more and hiccuped.  
Well, at least she wasn't afraid any more.  
“Aaaah, I think we could do something more. But I would have to put my hand between your legs first to prepare you a bit better. Will you allow me to do that?”  
Sansa tried to concentrate on his words, and even though her cheeks were rosy from the wine she still managed to blush some more.  
Another giggle.  
“You're shweet, Shandor, y'know shat? Sho nishe shatyou wanto helpme.”  
It was Sandor's turn to chuckle now. Seven hells, the drunk Little Bird was too cute to be true.  
He dipped his finger into the balm, bowed down to Sansa's glorious naked form, kissed her to distract her and allowed his hand to sneak under the blanket and between her legs.


	6. Chapter 6

OH FUCK!  
His cock started to twitch like mad because of the wonderful things his fingers started to explore.  
Sansa twitched, yelped and stared at him.  
“Shandorwht...”  
“Pain?”  
The Little Bird shook her head.  
“Good. Then let me go on. Just stay relaxed.”  
The Hound repeated the procedure.  
Sansa twitched again when she started to feel his hand, but this time, she didn't stop kissing. Quite the contrary. To Sandor's immense surprise she seemed to start to... like his touches. Mesmerized, he continued his attentions. The Little Bird uttered a petite noise as if she were thrilled.  
The Hound wanted to pinch himself to find out whether he was dreaming.  
Further down, his fingers met a little resistance at her entrance. Was this...? Carefully, he probed her some more.  
Sansa tensed up a little, but only for a moment, and she gasped his name into his mouth. Another minute later, she was pressing herself into his hand. It was a miracle! Even... even if he knew that it was the wine that was bringing it about.  
Sandor moaned and realised he couldn't wait any longer. He had already been more patient than he would have never thought he could be. Slowly, he moved a little, slipped between her thighs and allowed his hard shaft to brush against her. Next, he positioned himself in front of her opening and gave Sansa a little foretaste of what she was about to feel in a moment's time.  
The Little Bird was already completely flushed, and she gazed at their entwined bodies; Sandor had removed the blanket to make it possible for her to see what was going on, if she chose to do so.  
Sandor took her chin, but gently this time.  
“Little Bird,” he rasped lowly.  
“Yesh?”  
Sandor gave her a tiny kiss. Then, he simply said: “Look at me.”  
And Sansa did look at him this time. Straight in the eyes. She did not even blink.  
Cautiously, Sandor started to press into her.


	7. Chapter 7

To Sandor's immense relief the whole process didn't turn out to be too difficult. Sansa only winced a bit and mumbled a little "ouch", but she didn't panic or scream or weep. Sandor stopped for a moment, then pressed into her some more. The Little Bird tensed slightly, but when he paused once more she relaxed again. And after another forward movement they were finally joined.  
Seven. Bloody. Hells.  
Sandor couldn't believe the wonder he was allowed to feel - and Sansa was a damned wonder.  
"Are you all right?" he muttered breathlessly.  
Sansa bit her lip and seemed somewhat insecure.  
"I shink sho. You're much offa man..."  
The Hound couldn't help a snort in answer to this. The Little Bird was certainly not wrong.  
He bent down and kissed her again, and when she started to nibble on his neck he felt he could go on. Slowly, he pulled back a little and pushed deep into her again. Sansa tensed for a few seconds as she had done before, but relaxed directly afterwards.  
They started to repeat the exercise.

 

Damn. Damn, this was too good for Sandor. He had already been aroused before the Little Bird had been brought to him, and now, her warmth and tightness and sweetness were entirely too good for him. He wasn't accustomed to any sensation even close to this.  
It took perhaps three more minutes before Sandor lost control. He came with a grunt, but he managed not to flop down onto her with his heavy body, so she could still breathe.  
Confused, Sansa looked at him and asked: "What washhat?"  
As soon as Sandor was able to answer again, he rasped: "That was it. What had to be done."  
Sansa was even more puzzled now: "That washall? Weird. Why do people make shutsha fush over shish?"  
Sandor couldn't help a grin now.  
"Already wanting more?"  
Sansa tried to concentrate in spite of her befuddled state, furrowed her brow and informed him: "Nah, don't shinksho. Butshou feel betternow. Canyou keepme warm? Pleash?"  
Sandor felt some sort of sarcastic entertainment about the fact that drunk Sansa seemed at least to relish to feel his soft cock inside of her. He wondered if she'd develop a more... encompassing disposition in the near future - and whether they'd get a second chance to find it out. About one thing, however, Sansa was absolutely right: in the middle of winter it was really very comfortable to have a second warm body under the blanket.


	8. Chapter 8

The Little Bird fell asleep very soon, drunk as she was. Sandor, however, didn't sleep. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of holding her in his arms, and of her skin flush against his. It was so very much more than he had ever believed he could have. Lightly, he kissed her on her mouth – and even in her sleep she kissed him back, mumbled his name and tried to huddle closer, as if she wanted to creep into him.  
“Seven bleeding hells, I'm so much in love with her,” Sandor admitted to himself. He also knew well enough that he had been feeling like this for years. Yet, he'd have never believed that she'd be able to like being close to him.  
Neither had he expected that blasted Joffrey might hand her down to him. It was true that the king had lost most of his interest in her over the many months while Sansa had been his ward and betrothed. But now that he had married Margaery instead and that he had found a new victim in poor Shireen Baratheon the Little Bird wasn't half as fascinating for Joffrey any more.  
Shireen had been one of the last survivors who had come back from the north before winter had struck the seven Kingdoms with full force; her parents had perished alongside with most people north of Riverrun. Sandor growled deep in his throat, barely audibly, when his thoughts returned to Joffrey. The monstrous little bugger!  
The Hound also pondered how Sansa's home region had completely perished because of snow, the coldest temperatures that had ever been recorded... and because of the countless hordes of undead creatures that had managed to cross the Wall.  
The North was lost to the living – and thus, Sansa had also lost her tactical value. It was now that her rank had sunk so much that she had been deemed fit to be consumed by a rugged old Dog. Sandor felt bitter, but at the same time, he decided he'd try to bind Sansa to himself, if only she'd allow him to do so. He'd try to keep her safe and alive, like he'd already done all these long, long months at court.  
He looked at the slumbering Little Bird. She had become a woman grown now, in more than one way. No, she wasn't the naïve child any more that she had been back in those weeks when he'd got to know her first.

 

While Sandor was considering all these things Sansa started to stir. Her facial colour was changing to a cheesy yellow. Realising what this was this likely meant the Hound backed away from her a little and reached for the chamber pot under his bed. Not one moment too late, as he had to find out: Sansa started to retch, and next, she was puking into the enamelled receptacle. Sandor held her head and wiped her face clean with a wet cloth afterwards.  
In the course of the next few hours, Sansa vomited repeatedly, and when Ser Meryn hammered on the chamber door in the morning to retrieve her she was so sick and weak and miserable that she couldn't even walk. Sandor had a bad conscience for having given her too much alcohol, yet he knew that her wretched appearance would content and appease the little shit on the Iron Throne. The Hound hated the idea that Sansa would be presented to Joffrey in such a state and at least gave her a cloak to cover herself. Moreover, he swore to himself that he wouldn't allow the king to humiliate her again, and to get her out of the sadistic monarch's reach.


	9. Chapter 9

When Sandor's shift started an hour later Sansa had long returned to her room – but the king was still in high spirits.  
“Did you enjoy your nameday present, Dog? From the way Lady Sansa looked you did.”  
Only years of training made it possible for Sandor to keep an expressionless face – apart from the standard twitch of his mouth.  
“I thank you for the present, Your Grace. It was a most unusual nameday.”  
Joffrey cackled: “I can imagine that! The loyal Hound and the traitor's daughter – an interesting pairing for sure. I'm half of a mind to give her to you.”  
“I guess we'd breed interesting pups,” Sandor commented, and the king slapped his thigh in malicious glee.  
“Good point, Dog, good point! You know what? I've got a task for you, down in Dorne, and you can take the Stark bitch with you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Sandor frowned.  
“Dorne? What should I do there? It's not as if the Dornish would like the name “Clegane”.”  
“Maybe, Hound, but these are dire times. The undead creatures are venturing forth towards the south and the cold and the snow are still getting worse. Slowly but surely it's getting truly uncomfortable here in King's Landing, and I intend to retreat to a Dornish outpost. You have to prepare this for me, together with my dearest uncle, the Imp. I'm sure that though he doesn't love you he'll love it to explore the regions in the south before me. And in contrast to you he knows how to talk, so he'll lead the negotiations with house Martell – and you have to keep him safe.”  
Seven bleeding hells. The Martells AND the Imp. If Joffrey had not allowed him to take the Little Bird along he'd have considered it to be a special kind of punishment. As it was, however, he wouldn't raise any objections. He'd get Sansa out of the hell that King's Landing was for her!  
At that moment, Joffrey murmured: “Now that I've been able to dump the wolf bitch at your feet – what do you think of the scaly slut and Podrick Payne?”  
The executioner's cousin, Podrick, was still Lord Tyrion's squire and about to be knighted. What the king obviously didn't know was that the lad had a good heart and was already half in love with late Stannis Baratheon's sweet daughter. Of course, Joffrey only saw the ugly remains of her Greyscale infection and thought everyone else would detest her for her looks as well. Sandor chuckled inwardly. The blasted little shit was for sure a better matchmaker than he was a king.  
“More interesting pups. Likely with grey dots,” the Hound retorted and Joffrey laughed again.  
“Take the two on your mission, too. And while you're preparing my stay in Dorne I'll try to finally get the queen with child. You may have your stinking little pups. WE'LL have a golden stag with thorns on its antlers.”  
Sandor only thought: “The king is a stupid sod. But I knew that before...”


	11. Chapter 11

During his shift the Hound didn't get a chance to see the Little Bird again. But he did see the Imp, much to his chagrin.  
“Aaaah, SER Hound! How very uplifting to see my future travelling escort! Fancy a last good shag at Alayaya's?” the Halfman japed.  
“Only if I can watch them bugger you with a red-hot iron,” Sandor retorted.  
“You've got really specific proclivities, I must say. Wouldn't you rather prefer to watch me eat a harlot out? It's what women really appreciate, you know? Might give you some inspiration for the future.”  
“You're already giving me lots of inspiration – about new torturing methods!” the Hound barked, turned on his heels and stomped away, the Imp's laughter resounding after him.

 

About an hour later, Sandor ran into Podrick Payne.  
“Have you heard, lad? We're going on a trip to Dorne with Tyrion Lannister, and you're supposed to bring along Shireen Baratheon – as your mistress. King's orders.”  
At once, the shy, taciturn young man grew excited.  
“I had heard about the voyage – but Shireen?”  
Sandor nodded and added: “The king was very specific about this point.”  
The youngster's eyes lit up with pure joy for a moment... but then, his expression fell again.  
“Shireen as my mistress? I can't do that to her!”  
Sandor shrugged non-committally.  
“She'll be in good company. I'm supposed to take Lady Sansa with me as my mistress. A piece of advice: Marry Shireen along the road. Hope she has flowered. In that case, nobody can say anything against that. It's not as if she's of much strategic importance any more.”  
On hearing that, Podrick nodded sceptically.  
Next, he asked: “What about Lady Sansa? You can't marry her. You're a member of the King's Guard.”  
“I know,” Sandor commented darkly. “I know.”


	12. Chapter 12

At long last, Sandor could finish his shift and seek out the Little Bird. At once, he made for her room. Nobody was holding vigil in front of it any more. The king had dumped her, the north was lost, and there was no-one and nowhere to go for Sansa. But now, she WOULD go somewhere. To Dorne. With him.  
Sandor knocked. He could hear scurrying feet inside, and a few moments later, the door was opened. Sansa looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, and her complexion had a definite grey hue; she was obviously still very groggy from the previous night.  
“Happy hangover,” was all the Hound's brain could come up with.  
Sansa made a slight grimace, as if she was about to puke again.  
But the wave of nausea passed by, and she managed to utter: “I don't know how you can like to get drunk, knowing full well what it does to your body.”  
Sandor shrugged and retorted: “Both the drunkenness and the hangover divert you from thoughts or nightmares you might want to forget. Anyway. Can I enter? I've got to tell you some news, Little Bird.”  
Sansa ushered him in with a wave of her hand.


	13. Chapter 13

On the inside, she sat down in an old, a bit chafed, but comfortable chair with a few cushions and offered him another one.  
Direct as always, Sandor ventured forth: “Do you remember last night?”  
Sansa nodded in a neither appalled nor enthusiastic way. She looked simply tired, acquiescent, and a bit remote.  
The Hound didn't know exactly how to go on and rasped: “I hope... I didn't hurt you too much.”  
Now, it was Sansa who shrugged, and she replied: “You were gentle, and I thank you for that.”  
Somehow, Sandor was getting the impression that in the morning Joffrey had been far from gentle with her in the way he had judged the outcome of their jousting.  
“Have you already heard of the king's latest plans for us?”  
That finally stirred the Little Bird's interest.  
“No. What does he want?”  
He has ordered us – that is you and me, the Imp, his squire and Lady Shireen – to travel to Dorne. Looks as if His Grace doesn't want to freeze off his balls in wintry King's Landing, so he's sending us ahead to negotiate and to prepare his arrival in the south. Besides, he has ordered Podrick Payne to take Lady Shireen as his mistress... and I'm supposed to go on with what we started last night.”  
Sansa blinked.  
“I see,” she said simply.


	14. Chapter 14

Sandor hadn't expected her to be overjoyed with regard to that prospect, but to see her armour of unfeelingness so tightly back in place made him angry.  
“Ah, so the pretty Little Bird “sees”. How very gracious to acknowledge the fact that we have fucked and that we'll be fucking again. I know I'm just an ugly, scarred cur, but last night you were more cuddly, and I had hoped you wouldn't be so bloody indifferent now. Well, I'm an oaf, true enough, I can see that now. I apologize for interrupting your stay in the clouds... or rather no. Actually I'm NOT sorry, brute that I am. Have a fucking nice rest of the day.”  
Sandor rose and made for the door.  
Suddenly, there were hurried steps behind him. He turned around with a sceptical frown on his face... and just in time for the impact of the Little Bird's body.  
The next moment, she was clinging to him, trembling and sobbing against his chest: “Please tell me I'm not just a disgusting, poxy, red-headed whore for you! Please!”  
Sandor's eyes went as wide as saucers.  
Holy shit, what in the seven bleeding hells...??


	15. Chapter 15

The same instant, Sansa made something like a pull-up around his neck. Unceremoniously, her mouth landed on his so forcefully that their teeth banged together. And then, the Little Bird seemingly wanted to eat him up, so desperate was she.  
What the fuck was suddenly going on with her?  
Sandor didn't complain, though. He started to feel all fuzzy and warm, and he couldn't think straight any more. Somehow, they tumbled towards the bed. Sansa was still in a complete frenzy, and her feverish hands started to dive under his tunic and to roam over his body as if he were the bloody most adorable man in the world.  
The only suitable reaction Sandor could come up with was... to lose control so thoroughly that he literally tore her simple brown house gown apart in order to reach her bare skin faster.  
Sansa whimpered, but was also fumbling on the laces of his breeches.  
In a short lucid instant Sandor gasped: “Aren't you sore from last night? I don't want to...”  
He didn't get any further, because the Little Bird was shutting him up with a passionate kiss, and when her tongue dived into his mouth all possible objections fled his mind.  
Without hesitating, he cupped her breasts, then bent further down and started to feast on her nipples. Sansa moaned, and her sweet song nearly undid him then and there. He realised he needed to hear more from her, like he needed air for breathing. With a grin that caused his mouth to twitch he started to kiss down her belly, then her pubic bone and further, aiming for the Little Bird's most tender spot.


	16. Chapter 16

What came next was so glorious that he'd never, ever forget it, not in all his life. Sansa opened up for him instinctively, and her female scent and taste drove him crazy. She wiggled under him, and squealed a few times, when he accidentally tickled her; but slowly, Sandor got the hang of how to caress her in a way she liked... and as a result, the Little Bird was suddenly trying to meet his lips and tongue and even teeth. In response, he kissed and licked and sucked her private parts as hungrily as he would her mouth.  
Shit, had he somehow lost his way and had accidentally entered the seven heavens!?  
Sansa's moans and her bucking movements showed him that she was getting close to sweet release. He left her then with his mouth and endured her protest, only to kneel between her legs and to enter her with a few tiny thrusts. She was still tight around him. Sandor had feared he might hurt her, but if this was the case the Little Bird didn't care: she pulled him down onto her, into her, and he had barely sheathed himself when she exploded.  
Seven. Bleeding. Hells.  
He had never felt another woman come around him, and her spasms nearly whipped him to his own peak. Nearly. But not quite. With shaking breaths Sandor waited until they had both recovered a little – and then, he started to move in and out. Ever so slowly. Keeping himself under control. Curbing the speed. Prolonging the act as best he could. He had never had a woman like this, but here he was with his beloved, and so he tried to do his best for her.  
Given that he was close to the point of no return from the beginning he was surprised he lasted as long as he did. Finally, his own climax slammed into him so hard that he saw white for a moment, and afterwards, he couldn't even remember the sounds he had certainly uttered in that situation.  
Holy shit!  
Panting, he slid out of the Little Bird, and though he felt literally pumped out. He grabbed her lithe body and stroked her where he had been with his cock before. At first, he didn't do it correctly, but then, he found the right spot and rhythm, and a few minutes later, Sansa gifted him with a second song. Oh, and what a sweet song it was! Never had the Hound loved her music so much before.


	17. Chapter 17

Afterwards, they lay there in bed, silent. Sandor didn't know exactly how to proceed: he had always left the whores he had hired quickly after the act, and the night before, Sansa had been asleep, so there had been no need for communication either. But now?  
To his surprise, the Little Bird seemed to be better prepared for this situation than him: she simply put her arms around his middle, snuggled up flush against him and nuzzled his curly chest hair with nose and cheek. She didn't make a peep; she was simply one big, sweet caress.  
The Hound was at a loss for what to do: he knew how to bark and to snarl at the people around him, but he had no experience with regard to tender touches. Hesitantly, he stroked the Little Bird's auburn plumage, hoping she wouldn't object. It earned him a contented little “mmmm”, so he went on with the procedure. Strangely enough, being silent together didn't feel awkward in the least. It was all so peaceful that they even dozed off a little.  
After an hour or so, Sandor jerked awake again as he was simply not accustomed to having a sleeping woman next to him.  
“Seven hells,” he mumbled. “What do you say, Little Bird: fancy a bit of food?”  
Sansa rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand, nodded and chirped: “Oh yes, please! My hangover is much better now. A snack – that's a good idea! Sweet Mother, I'm so tired and so hungry! ”  
“That's normal after a good fuck,” Sandor commented good-naturedly.  
Sansa flinched and flushed deep scarlet. From the way it looked, she was only now realising how wanton she had been earlier on.  
Sandor didn't want her ladylike behaviour to take root again, so he growled: “Damn, Little Bird, your enthusiasm is so bloody good I'll have a hard time not to take you again for dessert.”  
Sansa couldn't look at him now from sheer embarrassment; she was so red in the face that it spread further, and her blush crept down her neck and towards her cleavage in the most alluring way. What a pity she had covered herself with a blanket in the meantime, so that Sandor couldn't see those divine little teats any more. Something had to be done about that once he'd return, he decided for himself. So he simply patted her thighs, rose, donned his clothes – though not his light armour, which practically meant he was still more than half naked – and made for the kitchens.


	18. Chapter 18

Later, Sandor came back with a little basket stuffed with some really delicious food: cold roast, fresh rolls, an aromatic chunk of cheese, hard-boiled eggs, mushrooms pickled in an oily extract of finest herbs, smoked trout fillets, some sweet cookies, and a very rare delicacy: a few circular slices of a fruit that was called “apple-of-the-pine”, from the Summer Isles. Sandor had only ever eaten it once, but when he had seen it in the kitchen he had been convinced at once that Sansa, who liked lemons so much, would appreciate this fruit flavour as well.  
“So much food!” the Little Bird exclaimed.  
“I'm a big man, and we might get hungry again later,” he teased her.  
As could be predicted, Sansa blushed again and busied herself with a roll.  
Sandor chuckled and knew at the same time that in the past he'd have barked at her for not looking. Yet, things had changed. Perhaps, she was avoiding eye contact at this moment, but it wasn't because she didn't like him. At least... in some ways she had shown him her... affection.


	19. Chapter 19

After roughly about a minute of silent chewing they started to discuss their trip to Dorne. Sandor wasn't really enthralled about this part of the Seven Kingdoms.  
“It's hot, there are snakes, the Martells hate the name Clegane, but they do have a liking for poison. No, it's not a place where I'd go voluntarily. What's more, the Imp will be a constant pain in the neck. Well, at least you won't be around Joffrey for a while. And the same will be true for Shireen Baratheon.”  
Sansa sighed and nodded.  
Sandor took hold of her chin, tipped back her head and leaned over her. When she didn't flinch he rubbed his nose against hers... and when she still didn't panic he brushed his lips over hers.  
It was still so new for him.  
Sansa Stark – returning his feelings. A bloody wonder.  
Sandor took her hand, put it under his tunic and positioned it on his bare skin – on the spot where his heart was beating madly against his ribcage from the inside.  
He growled into the kiss: “Remember: when we're outside our rooms you're still bloody horrified of me – lest the little shit on the throne doesn't change his orders.”  
Sansa's only reaction was to intensify the kiss and to whisper back: “I'll try not to be such a lousy liar. You best be very horrifying then outside our rooms.”


	20. Chapter 20

Whohoo! On hearing Sansa's words Sandor's cock was resurrected where the Hound had in secret deemed it to be exhausted for the next hours. He also noticed that he was developing weird needs of late. He suddenly found himself dreaming of exploring every inch of the Little Bird's lovely body with his mouth. Well, perhaps this wasn't quite so surprising, as Sansa was such a beautiful young woman that every normal man would probably want to do that.  
The far more unsettling point was that Sansa obviously wanted to do the same with his ugly, scarred body! When he put off his tunic and opened his breeches she gasped... in something akin to... adoration. Which was totally ridiculous. Why on earth would she look at him like that?  
And yet, she didn't feel disgust, but rather the opposite – Sansa was simply still shy and careful, hesitant and intent on pleasing him, so she was watching his reactions with each single kiss. As if he'd bloody ever stop her from any caress! He could only gaze at her in awe while he watched her ghosting little pecks on his abs.  
When he noticed her eyes lingering on one of his nipples, undecided, he could only rumble: “Go ahead with it, for fuck's sake!”  
Sansa winced, but then, she obliged. Her lush mouth closed over the little protrusion he had never cared much for until that moment.  
OH SHIT!  
Sandor moaned and grabbed into the Little Bird's auburn locks in sheer arousal... while further down, his cock started to weep with lust.


	21. Chapter 21

Sansa had obviously spotted his undeniable signs of hunger. Again, Sandor took her hand, led it, but this time wrapped it around his member.  
“See what you're doing to me?” he groaned.  
Sansa was absolutely embarrassed... but she was also curious and didn't draw back. Very good. Indeed.  
He twitched again, and the Little Bird giggled.  
“Cocks are ridiculous, aren't they?” Sandor teased her with a grin, and at once, he received some chirped apologies for her exhilaration.  
“Don't you say sorry for having fun with me, understood!?” he admonished her.  
Sansa nodded wildly, and she was looking at his member again, but suddenly, her gaze flickered to the food basket.  
Mildly puzzled, Sandor's eyes followed hers – and then, he started to grin his widest houndish grin.  
“Ah, so the Little Bird is gauging, if those apple-of-the-pine rings fit around my cock? You naughty little minx!”  
Sansa started so heavily that she nearly fell to the ground, chirping in a horrified tone: “I didn't think anything like that!”  
Sandor took hold of her and barked his laughter. She was such a bad liar! He had caught her red-handed, but seemingly her mind wasn't prepared yet to carry out the idea. Well, perhaps in the future then.  
“Doesn't really matter, he breathed into her ear; instead, I'd also like to put my member into a warmer space again. You may remember what I mean.”  
“Sandor! You're outrageous!”  
“Who? Me? If that isn't big news to me. I've never heard that before,” he teased her again in his most ironical voice.


	22. Chapter 22

Sansa was drowning in shame by now. Moments later, he had her completely naked again, so he could find out how far down her red face colour reached.  
“Mmmm,” he murmured contentedly and started to return her earlier favour with the nipple.  
Now, it was Sansa's turn to moan.  
“The Little Bird tastes good. Perhaps I should have another go at the delicious drumsticks. They were so... juicy.”  
Sansa hid her face behind her hands.  
“No words of a bloody bard, I know, but you're the one who's responsible for the song now anyway,” Sandor pointed out – and placed her legs over his shoulders without further ado.  
Their second lovemaking followed very much the dramatics of the first one as this was what they already knew together. Only now, Sandor had already released once, and the whole thing wasn't as urgent as it had been the first time. Thus, he managed to last much longer.  
He was astonished of how easy it was to take Sansa to the seven heavens. Passion came to her naturally, and even though one could notice that she was still insecure about some things and generally inexperienced she didn't truly mind him, or what he was doing with her. The more she learned the more curious she actually became.  
In some ways, it was the same for the Hound. He hadn't even been able to dream of something so wonderful with a woman, so far was their lovemaking beyond his scope.  
Around the hour of the wolf, a totally exhausted Sandor Clegane stole back to his own room, not without having instructed the Little Bird on upholding appearances in front of the king and his court. It wouldn't be long until they'd be on the road together, and then, they'd be able to really share their nights without any time restrictions. The Hound sighed. There would be other limitations, of course. After all, they'd only have tents on many occasions, and he didn't want the Imp to know all the intimate details considering himself and Sansa (and the Little Bird would surely like that even less).  
In spite of these little nuisances, however, Sandor was in high spirits, and only his thorough training as the king's shield kept him from grinning continuously like a fool over the next week. Not even the fact that Tyrion would bring his freshly-widowed crony Bronn and two whores from Alayaya's along could dim his mood.  
Finally, the day of their departure had arrived, and after a few unnerving words from Joffrey's side they went on their way. Sandor didn't look back once – and neither did Sansa.


	23. Chapter 23

The group that had set out for Dorne reflected Joffrey's incapacity, the Hound thought: the king had not cared for enough fighters to keep the travellers safe. He and Bronn were competent fighters, and Pod had learned a great deal, too; when it came to the worst, even Tyrion could fight a little. Still, they were too few for the night vigils and no adequate escort for a royal diplomat.  
Luckily, they didn't come across any robbers and made good progress. At first, they still had to get along with the wintry weather, which was no little problem. During those nights when they could stay at an inn they could warm up themselves, but otherwise, they were cold all the time. They huddled together then as best they could.  
Tyrion's tent was the biggest one, so they stayed there in those cases. Bronn had jested: “The biggest tent for the smallest man.” And Tyrion had lifted a finger and had quipped back: “The shortest man, maybe, but with the biggest brain!” Sandor had not reacted to their stupid jokes and had kept silent, even when the two had tried to tease him into a reaction.  
What the Hound didn't like was the fact that there was nearly no chance for any romantic moments with the Little Bird. Most of the time, they were too cold, too tired and too sore from riding (the latter point was Sansa's big problem, as she wasn't accustomed to riding and the horses were also having some problems in the snow). Besides, Sansa had her moon blood right at the beginning of their voyage, which added mightily to her distress. Thus, they usually only lay down next to each other, sandwiched by their fellow travellers, and tried not to freeze to death.  
It was an interesting little detail that the two harlots, Mina and Illa, were not used to riding horses either, and their competences when it came to straddling men didn't help them much, so that they were sore in the evenings, too. They didn't complain, though, as they had come along voluntarily. Besides, a woman who had worked at Alayaya's could stomach a lot and had seen even more. Sandor came to the conclusion that he liked the two women better than he did their lovers.  
Apart from that, the women kept close contact, which astonished the Hound. He wasn't surprised that Sansa and Shireen got along well, they were both real sweethearts after all – but that they didn't ignore the whores and chatted with them after some days as if they were friends was something completely different. Whenever he picked up scraps of their talk they were debating domestic or typically female topics, such as the texture of different fabrics, but sometimes, when the younger women were giggling into their hands, he suspected that they were being instructed on the finer points of fucking. Perhaps the harlots also provided them with some lewd anecdotes. Who knew...


	24. Chapter 24

One day, they found an inn and they were all determined to enjoy the night, having mattresses for themselves at last – and it was certain that Bronn and the Imp would also enjoy some lusty jousts, because their women were tougher than the high-born females in their travelling party. Even so, Sandor hoped he could have some sweet moments with his Little Bird.  
Tyrion was in a generous mood and invited them all for some good food and drink, so that when they were finally stumbling towards their respective chambers, they were all in a lighthearted, if befuddled mood. The Imp had also found himself another tavern wench to join him and Mina for a little threesome, from what Sandor had gleaned by watching them.

 

When he himself and Sansa finally lay in bed the Little Bird pressed herself against him and murmured: “Do you think Tyrion was doing the same you did to me on our first night together?”  
“What do you mean?” Sandor wanted to know.  
“Getting Shireen drunk, so it would be easier for her and Podrick to lie down together for the first time,” Sansa explained.  
Sandor was surprised.  
“You mean – Pod hasn't dunked his brush into her opening yet?”  
“Sandor! Stop being so coarse again!” she reprimanded him.  
Of late, she had gotten much more self-confident when it came to voicing her opinion in his presence, that much was clear.  
“What?!” Sandor protested. “You won't make an overbred lapdog out of a cur like me. But if what you say is true and Tyrion had knowledge of it... yes, it would be possible the Halfman made Shireen drunk on purpose. He's a mean little gargoyle, but he's got a soft spot for his squire and perhaps he really wanted to make sure they could have a more relaxed night. Only... now that you're talking about it a few things make more sense.”


	25. Chapter 25

“What do you mean, Sandor?”  
“Pod once mentioned her age. I think he's very fond of her, but he also finds her too young. At first, I thought he was only talking of certain... more mature variations, not of fucking in general. Well, but then, it explains...”  
Sandor stopped short.  
“What does it explain?”  
The Hound grunted.  
“Damn my loose, burned mouth. You shouldn't know these things about him. You promise me you won't tell anyone?”  
The Little Bird shook her head wildly and swore she'd keep everything a secret.  
Sandor sighed and combed with his hand through his hair.  
“All right. I spotted him two days ago behind a bush. At first, I thought he was having a piss, but then, I realised he was taking care of some other needs, if you get my meaning. Of course, I retreated at once, and he didn't notice me.”  
Sansa blushed fiercely.  
“Oh.”  
Sandor became irritable and growled: “Seven hells, I knew I shouldn't have told you. Still the squeamish, ladylike Little B-aah!”  
While he had been ranting Sansa had suddenly started to see to HIS needs, and her delicate hands and nimble fingers were hesitant, but also very curious... and increasingly delighted. When she bowed down and started to ghost little kisses along his length Sandor wanted to weep from sheer joy – and at the same time, he knew that Mina and Illa had indeed informed Sansa about these details. Bugger him though, if he'd complain.  
Sansa looked up again and smiled, asking him with her Tully blue eyes, if he had liked her touches – and Sandor was in such a flurry of excitement that he blew out the candle and grabbed the Little Bird to ruffle her feathers with all the passion he was capable of.


	26. Chapter 26

The next morning, they got up rather late, which was quite a surprise, because they had meant to leave the inn at dawn. Bleary-eyed as he was after a very eventful and pleasuring night, Sandor told himself that the Imp was likely suffering from a hangover and another kind of exhaustion, and that this was the reason why they hadn't been woken up by their comrades.  
Yawning, he trotted to the washstand, poured himself some water, washed and shaved himself, donned his clothes and emptied the washing bowl with the dirty water through the window. Then, he poured new water into the bowl for Sansa and went over to the bed to wake her up. Watching the sleepy, tousled Little Bird with her auburn halo clean herself was so delicious that more explicit mental images were popping up in his head like wildfire.  
His cock didn't react though, jaded as it was after their intense lovemaking, and it was pretty clear that Sansa was feeling the same. A day in the saddle was probably really no good idea for the women now.  
Sandor smiled, and his mouth twitched. It had been so marvellous to sleep with Sansa skin on skin. Their limbs had been wonderfully heavy and relaxed after they had assuaged their hunger for each other. Now, the Hound had to admit that he felt a ravenous appetite for a hearty breakfast, just the way it should be after some wild, extended fucking. As if Sansa's stomach wanted to show its approval, it rumbled loudly, and Sandor chuckled about it.

 

However, he didn't laugh any more when they came down the stairs and saw Tyrion and the others hunched around a table, their faces pallid and their eyes wide in shock. Shireen was trembling in Podrick's embrace. Yet, the most ominous point was that the Imp was totally silent and didn't say a single word.  
“Bugger me, what has happened, Halfman?” Sandor inquired.


	27. Chapter 27

Interestingly enough, it was Bronn who answered, not Tyrion Lannister: “Seems as if we've got a second Harrenhal now.”  
“What do you mean, sellsword?”  
“Daenaerys Targaryen has returned to the Seven Kingdoms – with dragons.”  
Sandor paled, and Sansa clutched his arm.  
“You don't mean...?”  
“They're all dead,” Tyrion croaked. “All of them. Cersei. Jaime. Joffrey. Tommen. We can be lucky that Myrcella is already in Dorne and betrothed. At least she's alive.”  
Sandor had to take a seat now, and Sansa sank down on his knees, crawling into his embrace. She had started to tremble.  
The Hound commented in a dead voice: “Looks as if we're the next ones on the Targaryen bitch's blacklist, if you ask me, Halfman. Once she notices we're not dead, that is.”  
Tyrion nodded weakly, but didn't have much to say to that. He had been dealt such a blow that he didn't function normally any more.  
In this situation, Podrick turned to Sandor as the capable, battle-hardened soldier and the next best educated man when it came to tactics: “What do we do now? I don't want to end as a snack for a dragon.”  
“You've got a bloody good point there, lad. We've got to change our direction and our course of action. I'm sure Daenaerys Targaryen will send emissaries to the remaining important houses to make them kneel – or to roast them right away. We need to reach a ship and to leave Westeros. The sooner, the better. We've got enough money for our passages. Illa and Mina, the dragon woman doesn't know about you. What do you want to do? Stay or leave as well?”  
The women were undecided, and Mina finally voiced: “I guess it depends on where we'd end up, but I can imagine to come along with you. A whore can always find work in one of the Free Cities, and King's Landing doesn't sound like an attractive place to return to.”  
So it was decided. Oldtown was ruled out as a possible destination to reach a port, because it was likely that Daenaerys would have some spies there all too soon, as the city was so important. Instead, they'd try to find their way to Starfall in Dorne, and from there, they'd book a passage on a ship in order to leave the Seven Kingdoms.


	28. Chapter 28

The next weeks were exhausting and bleak. This was especially due to the Imp. On the one hand, he was mourning his deceased family, and on the other hand, he was having problems with the terrain. They had left the snowy regions, which was good, but they had also left the street they had been following and were cutting across country. Things got even more complicated when it became clear that Tyrion had sired a baby on Mina. Normally, it wouldn't have been so obvious that the Halfman was the father, but for once, the woman had only been with him – not even with Bronn, who had seemingly focused on Illa.  
Sandor's chances to have some more sweet tumbles with Sansa had been reduced to next to nothing. The Little Bird was still often tired after a day's ride, and besides, she was also rather depressed because of the deaths they had found out about. True enough, she wasn't sorry for either Cersei or Joffrey, but things were different with regard to Tommen, and the way Tyrion was grieving for his brother affected her, too, even if she had not known the Kingslayer well. Once more, Sandor could only wonder at how Sansa could feel any grief for anybody at all after the things she had had to endure in King's Landing.

 

When they finally arrived at Starfall they turned out to be really lucky bastards: there were no minions from the dragon woman there yet; moreover, they came across a ship that was about to set sails for the Summer Isles, and after much haggling they were allowed on deck as passengers. The whores were content with the destination as well. After all, it was a place were the profession of a harlot was hailed. They had barely enough time to sell their horses; only the Hound was willing to pay the price for a passage of his own courser. Bronn called him an unscrupulous romantic for not wanting to give up Stranger – which earned the sellsword a nice black eye.


	29. Chapter 29

And then, the morning came when they floated out of the river's estuary mouth, and they left Westeros behind for good. The Imp, Podrick and Shireen were standing at the stern and watching the seagulls flutter in the air with loud shrieks. Shireen was sniffling noticeably, and Podrick was holding her and trying to console her. Sandor left them to their thoughts and went in search for Sansa.  
To his surprise, he found her in their joint cabin, and she was very calm.  
“What are you doing in here, Little Bird? Don't you want to see the Seven Kingdom's disappear on the horizon?”  
Sansa smiled sadly and answered: “I saw my home disappear the day I left Winterfell, and I didn't look back then. Now that the north is past reclaim there's nothing for me to look back to. But I've been praying to whichever god is willing to listen to me, and I hope that a better future is lying ahead of us on the Summer Isles.”  
“As long as I can be with you I'm bloody sure of that, Little Bird,” the Hound replied.  
Sansa was actually grinning now, and she teased him: “You know... I think Bronn was right – you ARE an unscrupulous romantic.”  
“YOU!” Sandor called, and moments later they were scrimmaging merrily on the bed... which led to some far more explicit activities after a while.


	30. Chapter 30

A few months later, the morning of Sandor's next nameday dawned. They were on one of the Summer Isles now and living in the vicinity of their old travelling party. Tyrion had begun to work as a scribe and an archivist, and though he didn't have his former wealth and social rank any more and had to work like a commoner to earn a living he was happier these days than he had ever been, as it was a job he really liked. Mina was heavy with child and would give birth soon; the Halfman was slowly developing a very domestic lifestyle and cared a lot for her. To be honest, Sandor would have lost any wager about the question whether the Imp could ever become so down-to-earth.  
He himself, Podrick and Bronn were working as watchmen and bodyguards for a local nobleman, an occupation that was fitting for them, too. Sansa busied herself with embroidery in Westerosi fashion, and her works were in demand. Shireen had started to work as a private teacher, in spite of her youth. She was calm and patient, warm-hearted and intelligent, so she had gathered a few clients who allowed her to educate their children.


	31. Chapter 31

Yes, Sandor could say now that he was a happy man, and not the miserable, snappy dog he had still been a year before. To wake in the mornings with the Little Bird at his side was a neverending miracle. No wonder that he allowed himself some more calm minutes in bed, just holding his beloved, before he finally had to rise to prepare for work.  
He went over to the washstand and started to clean himself. On seeing his rumpled self, he had to grin when he thought of the juicy mess they had made the evening before. Sansa had initiated some very enjoyable caresses. The whole affair had quickly gotten out of control, like so often – and now there was quite a bit to wash up... but Sandor certainly didn't mind.  
A few moments later, he heard some light, naked footsteps behind him, and then, Sansa was embracing him from behind and kissing him between the shoulder blades.  
“Happy nameday, love.”  
“Thank you, Little Bird.”  
He squeezed her hands, and Sansa snuggled up even closer against his back. He could feel her breasts press against his skin. Sweeeet... The Hound grinned contentedly.  
“Sandor,” the Little Bird started hesitantly, “I wanted to have a present for you, and there is one in the making, but it isn't ready yet.”  
“Never mind. I've got you. There is no sweeter present than that. And what do you say when the other gift will be ready?”  
Sansa's voice was a warm breath against his back: “In seven months.”  
Sandor stiffened, incredulous.  
“You mean...?”  
“Yes.”  
The Hound never knew how it came to that, but suddenly, he was on his knees, weeping against Sansa's upper belly and nearly crushing her in his embrace.  
“Oh my Little Bird, oh my Little Bird...!”  
After a while, Sansa got onto her knees as well, and she cupped his tear-stained, scarred face with her hands.  
Then, she said very seriously: “Sandor, there was always something I wanted to ask you.”  
“What is it, Little Bird?” the Hound sniffled.  
Sansa breathed in and out.  
“Will you marry me, Sandor Clegane, now that you've become your own Dog?”  
It was finally Sanndor's turn to reply with “yes”, and he had never given an answer more readily.

 

\- THE END -


End file.
